


People Watching

by Meloncholor



Series: Castlevania Mafia AU [2]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Married Couple, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22884283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meloncholor/pseuds/Meloncholor
Summary: A spin-off of my other work, The Hanged Man's Prize. You and Vlad are at a party and things don't go well.
Relationships: Dracula Vlad Tepes | Mathias Cronqvist/Reader, Dracula Vlad Tepes | Mathias Cronqvist/You
Series: Castlevania Mafia AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644940
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	People Watching

You watch from your alcove behind the row of hedges, perched in your stool at the bar, as Vlad works the room, bouncing from conversation to conversation. He towers over the bustling crowds of people, making him easy to spot no matter where you end up sitting. His charming facade is amusing, the way he commands the attention of any patron he decides to grace with his presence. The bartender keeps your drinks flowing, a nice warm summer brandy to accompany your people-watching. The alcohol eases your usually frayed nerves and helps you stay relaxed, as you know anything could happen at one of your husband’s get-togethers.

Vlad spares a glance back to you, his award-winning grin still lingering between his cheeks and you smile back with a wave on instinct. But the warm gesture is turned to trepidation as you see the mischief well up in his eye another woman is trying to get his attention and his grin is wolfish now, you watch with a reasonable confusion as he turns and leans down to speak with another woman, who was all too pleased to have his ‘undivided’ attention. 

You’re fine. You tell yourself. He schmoozes, it’s one of the few requirements of his job. You and Vlad had come to the conclusion years ago that this was normal, this was how things worked when you’re in a profession like this. You don’t have to like it. You motion to the bartender to fill your drained glass, but your eyes never move from him or the woman. She giggles furiously at something he said, reeling back and going bright red. He smiles that oily smile of his. Did he have to schmooze so...thoroughly? The bartender sets a fresh glass in front of you, whisking the other one away in a flash. 

Then he looks back at you again, and it’s like the whole mood of the room changed. His smile is predatory and grating, and you try to sway the anger you feel when you see him placing a wide hand on the woman’s shoulder, and she eagerly steps into his space.

That asshole was playing with you, and god damn it if you were gonna let him

You stand up with a huff, taking your drink and downing it all in a defiant swig. He looks up to gauge your reaction, but your back is already turned to him as you leave the bar. His face contorts in confusion and he stands back up to his full height eyes frantically searching for where you were going to disappear. You pile drive through the crowd of well-dressed and expensive-looking socialites to the back veranda, where a steady spring breeze blew. The large balcony looked over Vlad’s back gardens, and after you shove through the curtains, you feel like your gut was going to burst. You felt like throwing up, or at least you wanted to. He’d been like this all day. Any woman in a five-mile radius of the estate had become a target of his attention and he just reveled in their praises. You thought it was just a perk of his job, but you can’t help that it made you feel...unwanted. The reasonings you give yourself look weaker and weaker the more you think about it, and you wonder if you could ever be happy with this ‘arrangement’. 

You knew you weren’t exactly the prize-winning pony like the many pampered and pristine women of high society he associated with. And it stung in all the places you were trying to ignore when he treated them with tenderness and subtlety that you had assumed was only reserved for you ripped out your heart. You lean over the railing, fighting back tears as anger and sadness wrack your brain.

“Excuse me, miss?” A man’s voice breaks through your haze, but it’s not his.

Your eyes whip around to a younger-looking blonde man, square-jawed and handsome. His eyes are a fluorescent blue, and he stands several heads above you. You realize that you must have been out here for a long-time if he had actually noticed you standing here.“I’m sorry to bother you,” His accent is Romanian, you note. “But, are you alright?” He flashes a brilliant but knowing smile and steps onto the veranda. 

“Um...I…” You start and fail to hold back the sniffle as you do so. You’re hyper-aware of the weight of your wedding ring around your finger, and debate tossing down into the greenery below, just to give that man a piece of your mind. “I-I’m alright.” You manage a smile back at the clean-cut gentleman, mentally scolding yourself for sounding so pathetic.

“Sorry if I don’t believe you,” He says with a sympathetic chuckle. He crosses the distance, leaning over the side of the railing, far enough that you can tell that he is purposefully not invading your space. “A woman like yourself shouldn’t be sitting out here alone like this.”

You debate whether or not to say that you, in fact, were here with someone; that he was in the next room, shamelessly draping his attention over….

“Thank you.” You say and your voice is stronger this time, but you know the bitter edge still taints it. “It’s nice to have someone like yourself come and check up on me.” You playfully bat your eyelashes, willing away the tears. You lean against the railing so that you could easily hide your ring-finger beneath your other hand.

The man smiles and blushes, clearly pleased by the answer. “I’m Simon, it’s a pleasure to meet you, miss..?” He inches closer, his wide form drifting into your space.

“(Y/N).” You say coyly and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“A lovely name.” He spares an obvious glance back to the bustling party, “You uh, wanna get some drinks?”

“I would lo--”

“There you are!” A third voice joins the conversation, and you can’t tell if it’s full of wrath or genuine concern.

Vlad is standing in the archway to the veranda, his tie was loose and golden yellow eyes were wildly trained on you. Simon stands up, a silent offer to take the incoming blow before it landed. “Can I  _ help  _ you, Mr. Tepes?” Did they know each other? Simon adjusted his tie and his suit jacket with his back straight enough to level a table. “Is there a problem?” 

Vlad’s eyes dart from you to him. His wrath mixes with envy in a frothing rage, but he combs the stray hairs from his face and stands back tall. “ _ Belmont _ ,” He growls. “I didn’t think you were invited.” His face contorts in disgust, and he steps onto the veranda trying to get to you. But he sees when you avert your eyes and inch away from them both, and he stops. 

“Vladdy, old friend! You can’t have a party without me showing up!” Simon jeers and then turns back to you, and once again you’re the center of focus. “Now, shall we get our drink?” He reaches out a hand, and you honestly debate yourself whether or not you should just take it.

“I...Um…” Your face goes red as Vlad looks at you with a faint trace of hurt in his eyes. But his steely facade takes over and he sneers at Simon.

“(Y/N) doesn’t have to have a drink with the ringleader of the fool’s menagerie, and I doubt she wants to.”

It’s your turn to be filled with spiteful rage. How  _ dare  _ he! After all of that in the ballroom he had the  _ nerve _ to be so flippant and unempathetic with your feelings. Maybe you didn’t exactly want to go, but he had no reason to decide that for you! You look at Simon’s hand still outstretched for an answer and take it with a huff. Simon is undoubtedly pleased and watches as Vlad’s nerve dissipates as you stroll past him with your nose upturned.

Simon eagerly guides you back inside to the bar, and you both sit near the place you were set up in earlier, watching the ballroom guests dance from your secluded corner. “So…” He starts with a mischievous edge to his tone, “You know Vlad Tepes?” He leans in close, shadowing you in his presence, and you feel a keen urge to not tell the truth.

“Well, yes… I suppose.” You play with your ring underneath your hand, and as Simon looks up to order, you manage to sip it off and place it in your pocket before he notices. The bartender brings over your drinks, although you don’t think you remember ordering one. “I used to work for him. I’m a contractor of sorts.”

“Oh...” He smiles wide and takes one large gulp from his drink, downing it completely. There are a few blueberries on a toothpick in your drink, and you stir your drink with them, debating on whether or not it was safe to take a sip. “A contractor huh? I’m a bit of a contractor myself.” He leans in again, and you can help but inch closer as the aroma of rose and sandalwood graces your senses.

“And what do you exactly ‘contract’ for?” You laugh, setting the blueberry toothpick on your tongue and ever so gently pull one off between your teeth. His eyes are fixated on your lips as you did so and for a second you think he forget that you were having a conversation. You raise your eyebrow expectantly and that seems to bring him back into reality.

“Oh well,” He stutters and leans back, motioning to the bartender for another drink. “Let’s just say my specialty is pest control, it's a family business you know.” He beams with ancestral pride as his drink is brought over, and you almost think it’s cute.

“Pest control, huh?” You look him over again, his clothes are almost as expensive-looking as Vlad’s, and the drinks he was ordering were definitely something that wasn’t on the menu. “You must be doing good business then, if you end up in a place like this.”

He bellows out a laugh and chugs down his drink again, “Oh you don’t know the half of it.”

A few drinks and a pleasant conversation later, and your head is swimming, you wobble a little at your seat, eyes straining to focus on the drink in front of you. You didn’t realize what you had been drinking was this strong. You look up and Simon is ordering again, cheeks a rosy red and harmlessly flirting with the bartender. It’s innocent, you can tell. But the sight makes you want to wretch as you’re reminded of Vlad. You look over him one more time, taking his features and committing him to memory. As he continues to converse with the other man, you steal a bar napkin from nearby and scribble your number on it, leaving it on the seat as you get up, hoping he takes the initiative.

Simon doesn’t notice as you take a last handful of bar peanuts before heading off deeper into the party, leaving him behind. Your heels are wobbling underneath you, and you can’t tell if it was because you’re drunk, or because you had been wearing them too long. You head to the ballroom, where many of the attendees were still gleefully carrying on light after-dinner conversation. You can’t deny the fact that you scan the crowd for Vlad or the fact that you pause when you notice him leaning against a pillar in his own dejected corner, still surrounded by swooning women. 

Perhaps you were staring a bit too long because he looks up and your eyes meet. He looks around for a second for presumably Simon, before lifting himself up of the pillar and starting to cross the wide ballroom.

You’re sent into a panic, turning on your heel and heading for the front entrance, past the ballroom into the foyer, where a coat desk was merely steps from the front door. In your half-drunken stupor, giving the attendees and ushers quite the show, you clamber down the stairs and over to their desk.

You must have given the girl quite a fright, because without a word, she runs into the back room and returns with your coat in seconds, just as Vlad appears at the top of the stairs.

“(Y/N)!” He shouts and starts descending the stairs, you hurry and scoop the coat into your arms and are out the front door in record time.

His voice fades in the distance as you break into a jog, descending the front steps and gunning towards the parking lot hopefully before Vlad can catch up with you. You somehow get your coat on in your stride and much to your chagrin there was a fine deluge of rain pouring down over the front parking lot. It makes you freeze in your tracks, and your eyes are drawn down to your shoes that were pretty much incapable of walking on anything that isn’t a polished marble floor.

“(Y/N)!” You hear him shout again, and it takes everything you have to not audibly groan. You’re standing underneath a very generous awning, and you know he’s coming closer, and you know you’re shoes will be ruined if you take a single step forward. 

Whether it be your drunken disposition or general contempt for your situation; your throat starts to choke up with rage and disappointment, and your eyes sting around the edges as tears making their way through your makeup and down your cheeks.

You sob once, letting the tears fall and drip from your chin in a melancholy show of defeat. You’re gripping the edge of your fur coat with a vengeance trying to hold back the floodgates of drunken emotion that washed over you.

“There you are.” His voice is cool and clear through the torrent of rain, and you can’t bring yourself to lift your head up long enough to look him in the eye as you feel a pair of strong hands settle on your shoulders, holding you down in reality.

“You’ll get wet out here, come back inside.” His voice had no right to be so gentle, so kind. You’re too drunk to think of some witty retort to say, but you roughly shoulder off his large hands, stepping a bit closer towards the rain.

You sniffle. “You--You’re a mean man.” You say so pitifully it makes you sob again, abandoning all delusions of composure and just letting your jumbled emotions fall out in black eyeliner-tracks down your tracks, ruining your makeup even more.   
“(Y/N), I--” He tries to put his hands on your shoulders again, but you throw off his hands like a toddler in a tantrum. As you turn around to face him, to give him a piece of your mind but as you do your heel catches on the edge of the sidewalk and maybe if you hadn’t been drunk you wouldn’t have lost your balance and he wouldn’t have had to pull you into his chest.

You’re pressed tight into the expensive silk shirt and your hand’s fist into the fabric on instinct, steel reeling a bit from your loss of balance. He holds you close with an arm around your waist, and despite everything: the anger, the drinks, the probably huge stains you’re leaving on his shirt, you sink into him and cry. He’s wearing his own fur coat, and you’re encircled in warmth and the smell of cigars.

Vlad has his phone in the other hand, sharply barking orders into the receiver at his driver. “If you’re not here in thirty  _ seconds _ Godbrand, I will string up your entrails like goddamn  _ christmas lights _ .” He hangs up with an angry  _ beep _ . He stuffs the phone in his pocket and uses his other hand to pull you into a tighter embrace.

“I’m sorry dear, It’s been a long day.”

You just sob. There’s nothing else you can do. You just cry and ruin his expensive shirt in your melancholy defiance. He holds you tight, letting you do as you wished. The rain is still pouring in droves down around you, but the sound is drowned out by the muffled bass of a car’s speakers as a black Bentley pulled through the parking lot and up to the curb. 

“There he is,” He pulls you back a little to look at your raccooned eyes. “Godbrand is here darling,” He says softly. “Let’s go.” You sniffle as you’re guided out into the rain by a solid, warm hand at the small of you back to walk towards the car, but before you come in contact with the pouring down rain he drapes his heavy coat around you and shields your head from the water with his own body. He towers over you as you step out onto the street and he reaches around to open the car door, ushering you inside where the smell of fresh leather and Godbrand’s hand-rolled cigarettes permeates into every surface. You look even smaller as you sink into both Dracula’s jacket and the seat, drowning in the fabric. The scruffy driver avoids your gaze as you settle in, the dinky cig dangling from his mouth with a steady stream of smoke curling from its tip.

Vlad slides in after you, crowding you into the corner. As he slams the car door shut he looks at Godbrand through the rearview mirror. “We’ll be leaving now, take us home please.” He says with finality.” He tries to put his arm around you to comfort you, but with the emotions warring in your head, you ignore him, resigning to stare out of the front window.

The manor is dark and looms against the city skyline as the car pulls into the dramatically long driveway. It comes to a full stop when it reaches the front steps, Vlad jumps out first and circles around the side to open the door for you. You carefully hold his coat in place on your shoulders as you step out, hiking it up so that it doesn’t touch the wet cobblestone beneath you. He tries to take your hand as you exit, as he usually does, but you hide both hands withing the fur of the jacket and try to avoid his lingering gaze as best you can. The rain was still pouring down around you both, so you rush up the front steps to the door with him a few paces behind.

When you’re finally inside, you feel what little fire you had left in you rekindles in the familiar air of your shared home. Finally out of earshot of your chauffeur, Vlad speaks. “Are you alright? I’m so sorry about this whole calamity--”

“Please, stop.” You whisper in an exasperated sigh. “All of  _ this _ .” You gesture vaguely at his person. You were still angry, you couldn’t help it. Honeyed words and romantic gestures weren’t catharses for his behavior. And he knows this, he’s known every single time the two of you came home like this: upset and exhausted. He knew when you got married and he knew damn well now. “It’s not going to work Vlad.”

Genuine hurt crosses his features as the words flank him. “(Y/N), I’m sorry I--”

“I said stop!” You snap at him, feeling the tears well up in your eyes again. You look at him through blurred lenses and a crimson rage. “This is the  _ last  _ time Vlad Tepes!” You drop his coat from your shoulders and step out of your uncomfortable shoes, tossing it vaguely in his direction. He’s left speechless as you toss your other shoe at him. “No more! I’m participating in this little game of yours anymore!” You kick his expensive fur coat with your bare feet and sob, years of pent up guilt and rage coursing through every fiber of your being. “I’m staying in the guest room tonight.” You say too calmly, and as soon as it hits his ears his own eyes well with tears. 

“(Y/N), please, you’re being unreasonable--” He’s cut off by the look you give him. His hands are shaking and his suave demeanor is gone. He looks so small standing in front of you, wide-eyed and afraid. You could tell he didn’t believe you, he’s still trying to rank this with one of your other little ‘spats’ and you speak again. 

“Have Godbrand pack my things. I want them ready to leave by the time I get up in the morning.” You command, stepping over the wreckage of your outfit and heading for the foyer stairs, ignoring your husband’s hurt eyes. You throw him one last look over your shoulder before whispering, “I’m tired, Vlad.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally posted as a set of smaller posts on my Tumblr, which I edited and adapted so that it fits better on here. Leave a comment if you like, if you don't or if you just want to call me a fake gamer girl.


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